


Absent in Spring

by drivingsideways



Series: A Pair of Swallows [4]
Category: Serenade of Peaceful Joy (TV), 孤城闭 | Held in the Lonely Castle (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, F/M, Fuck the Canon, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Suicide Attempt, spoilers for episodes 46-52
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24149791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drivingsideways/pseuds/drivingsideways
Summary: How can a deep love seem deep love,How can it smile, at a farewell feast?Even the candle, feeling our sadness,Weeps, as we do, all night long.- Du Mu/ "Parting"
Relationships: Cao Danshu/ Zhang Maoze
Series: A Pair of Swallows [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1726612
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

Qiuhe carefully dries her hair and scents it.

She’s chosen a light fragrance today: something that reminds Danshu of spring, of newness, of renewal, even though it’s past the Mid-Autumn festival already. She’s learnt to read Qiuhe’s moods through her choices of scent and floral arrangements, not just her bright eyes and expressive face.

She doesn’t need to speculate much about the reason for Qiuhe’s good mood today: _guanjia_ had spent last night at Kunning Hall, as he has done at least once a week, sometimes more, in these last two months. Of course, he still spends more nights at Xiangluan Pavilion, and the occasional night at Yifeng Pavilion, but these days, when he’s free from matters of state, he visits Kunning Hall.

Spring had come at last to Kunning Hall, after fifteen long years.

She can see it in the brightness on the faces of her maids, in the increasingly enthusiastic experiments of her kitchen staff, in the redoubled efforts at keeping every inch of the palace beautiful and welcoming.

And in their smiles- especially when they look at _her._

They are all so happy for _her._

Qiuhe massages her scalp gently, her deft fingers moving in circular motion at her temples, behind her ears, at the base of her neck.

Danshu sighs. It feels good, and she lets her head sink back, resting against the rim of the tub. The rose petals in the perfectly warmed water swirl in lazy patterns as she lets her hand drift, aimless, in the water.

The scented bath will wash the stink of him from her body.

She wants to laugh out aloud sometimes, now, when she thinks of the nights- _hundreds_ of them- when she had lain awake, tormented by the thoughts of him with another woman, an ache, a yearning deep in the pit of her stomach- and lower- wondering what it would feel like, what it would be like to _have_ him, to _be_ possessed by him.

On some nights, she had used her fingers on herself to soothe the ache- for oh, she might have been brought up with decorum, but she was not _uneducated_ \- and she had fantasized about what it would be like, if it had been _his_ fingers, _his_ cock instead—

Well, now she knows- unimpressive.

For all his years with so many women, it seemed he had never learnt the trick of pleasuring one.

No, he was all about getting what he wanted, as quickly as he could.

He probably never had to think about another’s pleasure, never had to work for it- not that any of the ladies of the harem had ever voiced their complaint, and they would never dare to, not to _her._ But she wonders if this was an open secret among them, just one that she had never been privy to.

She can only hope that Zhang Bihan has better luck- she seems to want him in her bed every night, and Danshu didn’t think _that_ was pretense on her part- so perhaps, with her, he is different.

That thought doesn’t bring the pain it might have once- these days, the nights he spends at Xiangluan or Yifeng, are the ones which she can sleep peacefully.

The nights he spends in her bed- those are the nights she lies awake, after he’s rolled off her, with a grunt, falling asleep almost immediately, for the activity tires him out. She lies next to him, stiff as a wooden log, every line in her body tense, waiting for dawn.

The mornings after, she has instituted the ritual of this long, leisurely bath, something she had rarely bothered with before.

She knows her staff interpret it differently.

She knows that among them, these days, there are whispers of miracles- _she’s not actually that old either, there could still be an imperial heir._

These days she has only one prayer: that her womb remain closed.

She stares at her face in the polished bronze, as Qiuhe arranges her hair.

Her complexion is vibrant, her eyes unshadowed, her lips, the most perfect red.

It’s- it’s- _unnatural_ -she thinks, suddenly, because how could there be no evidence?

All the pain she had endured for half a lifetime, and here she was- unmarked, like the purest of jade.

She clamps down on the urge to throw the mirror to the floor, to sweep the table clear of all the ornaments, and trinkets, and boxes, wipe it clear, like he had done- that night—

She becomes aware that she’s gasping loudly, her chest gone tight and heavy, as though there was a pillar of stone on it—

She hears Qiuhe calling her name, as though from faraway. She turns her head, and Qiuhe’s alarmed face floats into view, her hands reaching out to steady Danshu.

Danshu closes her eyes, and tries to breathe, to get air into her lungs, because she can’t- she can’t-

When she opens her eyes again, the first thing she sees is the red canopy of her bed above her.

She tilts her head, and Qiuhe’s worried face leans over her.

“Niangniang” she says softly, “How do you feel now?”

“What happened?” she murmurs, blinking. “How did I get here?”

“You fainted. The Imperial doctor came by and took your pulse, but said there’s nothing the matter, though he’s prescribed a calming tonic for a few days.”

She nods.

Her throat feels parched.

She raises herself up.

Qiuhe has already poured some water for her, and she drinks it gratefully, wiping her lips after.

“I didn’t inform Funing Hall” Qiuhe says, looking guilty. “I thought you might not want to disturb guanjia”.

_Thank heavens, the last thing she wanted was to see his face._

Aloud she says, warmly, “You did right, Qiuhe. His Majesty has enough trouble at court these days. Besides, I’m fine now. Didn’t the Imperial Doctor already say there’s nothing to worry about?”

Qiuhe nods, but she looks subdued, and her eyes search Danshu’s face.

Time for a distraction.

“Come on now” she says, sliding out of bed, “I feel fine. Weren’t you supposed to show me some flower arrangements today? I don’t want to waste all those beautiful chrysanthemums that we fought Sheng Li to pick! I’m quite sure mine will be better, by the way, just so you know—”

Qiuhe smiles at her.

“We’ll see” she says, her face clearing a little. “Niangniang’s confidence rarely matches her skills in these things…”

“How disrespectful you are, Mei-mei!” Danshu mock scolds her. “I’ve a good mind to make you fast this afternoon!”

Qiuhe makes a face. “I wouldn’t mind!” she confesses, and then lowering her voice, “Zhu furen has been _experimenting_ again today!”

“Oh no!” Danshu exclaims, alarmed. “Is it going to be like those pork ribs the other day?”

“Probably worse!”

Danshu sighs. Zhu furen is as kind-hearted as she is short tempered, her ego bruising at the smallest perceived slights. On the days she’s upset- which can be at least once a week- the entire palace has to make do with burnt baos and overcooked noodles, but on the days she’s happy, her dishes are truly divine. These days she’s been taken up with the idea of innovation- with mixed results.

Danshu refuses to fire her because she knows that Zhu furen had come into the palace as a young girl and had never known a life outside of it. If she turned her out- she would have nowhere to go, she would never be able to manage out there.

“Tell her I’m ill and I want my favourite fish soup” she suggests to Qiuhe, “That should help!”

Qiuhe nods, relieved, and rushes off to avert disaster.

By the time she’s back, Danshu has already started on her flower arrangement, and they fall into their usual good-natured banter, and Qiuhe does not ask any more questions.

But she’s lulled herself into a false sense of security, because three weeks later, Qiuhe says, quietly, “ _Niangniang_ , have I angered you in some way?”

Danshu looks at her in surprise.

They’ve come out to the Lakeside Pavilion- it’s a surprisingly warm autumn they’re having, and the day was bright and clear.

“Why do you ask that?”

Qiuhe bites at her lip, and then suddenly goes down on her knees.

“If I haven’t done anything to anger you, then why will you not tell me?” she asks. “Why will you not tell me what is troubling you?”

“There’s nothing troubling me” she replies, and she knows her tone is just a shade too bright, but Qiuhe had caught her unawares. “Don’t be silly. Come on, get off your knees now!”

“I’m not being silly” she says, stubbornly staying on the floor.

“I’ve served at your side for four years now, I _know_ when you’re…when you’re _hiding_ something!”

“Qiuhe” she begins, opening her mouth to deny it, to lie, as she has been lying these past four months.

She had substituted one pretense for another, she had not thought it would be so difficult for her.

For years, she had pretended not to care, and now she had to pretend the opposite.

Now she had to smile, and simper, and hold her tongue when she thought he was making a mistake- and he- accepted it all, as his due. It would never occur to him that it was all a lie, that his _virtuous Empress,_ would be capable of such deceit. 

Oh, he was so easy to fool, she thought.

Not like Qiuhe.

She looks at Qiuhe, who draws closer, still on her knees.

“ _Niangniang_ ” she says, reaching for Danshu’s hands.

It reminds her of that night, in the garden, with Pingfu.

How tenderly he had held her, how carefully.

She has not been able to see him or hear from him since that night.

She has not dared to take the risk of _asking_ about him, even, much less _seeing_ him.

She stares at Qiuhe and sees in her face the same intensity that was in his eyes, when he’d said, _I will be your sword._

Guanjia had told her about how Qiuhe had come to him, had bartered her one favour from him for a chance to stay by Danshu’s side.

“I told her I was jealous” he’d said, laughing softly, “and it’s true.”

He’d looked at her then, and she’d seen something dark lurking in his eyes, so far back that one wouldn’t notice, if one hadn’t been looking.

She can’t believe she hadn’t seen it all these years.

But then, she hadn’t been looking, either.

“I don’t know how you have the luck of making people so devoted to you” he’d said, “of their own free will.”

“They are eager to serve me because of you” she’d lied, smiling at him, “Because they know you hold me in high esteem.”

He would believe anything if she found a way to make it about _him,_ she’d realized.

“ _Niangniang_ ” says Qiuhe, her eyes filling with tears.

Perhaps something in her face had given her away.

Danshu sighs and squeezes her hand lightly.

Qiuhe is her friend, and apart from Pingfu, the person closest to knowing her.

She doesn’t want to hide from _her._

“Walk with me for a while” she says, raising her to her feet. “There’s something I have to tell you.”


	2. Chapter 2

She sends off the head cook from the Imperial Kitchen with instructions that he is to send three of his best personally to Xiangluan Pavilion, to ensure that Zhang _meiren,_ always has the nourishment she needs. She’s also mandated that the cooks are to personally taste all the food in front of Zhang _meiren_ before she eats, so her mind can be at rest.

She does not expect Zhang Bihan to appreciate the gesture; nevertheless, it costs her nothing and she is indeed, happy to do it, if it means that Bihan’s moods won’t take a more violent turn.

She doesn’t have much information, though rumours abound, and Qiuhe has quietly gone around trying to get the facts.

Some were saying that Bihan had poisoned Xu Lantiao in a fit of jealousy and madness. That Jia Yulan had then taken poison to cast the blame on herself. That Jia Yulan had been _forced_ to take it, to cast the blame on herself.

Others were saying, no, this was the Empress finally running out of patience with that upstart at Xiangluan Pavilion, that she had acted via her servant Zhang Maoze to destroy Zhang Bihan’s chances of moving up in the rankings, if Xu Liantiao had birthed an imperial heir.

From what Qiuhe had gathered, it was this last version that was currently gaining currency; because surely no matter how much guanjia indulged Zhang _meiren_ , surely that indulgence would not extend to the loss of an imperial heir. The Empress, naturally, would be a more difficult person to depose, even if he wished to. And that palace uprising few months ago? Hadn’t there been talk of one of the Kunning Palace’s maids being involved? _That_ had been hushed up too.

Somebody had written an anonymous piece in one of the capital’s two weekly publications that detailed the supposed conspiracy being hatched, even bringing her maiden family into it; according to that particularly creative mind, since she’d failed to get her nephew engaged to the Princess, and the rebellion had exposed her intentions, she had now decided to forgo any subtlety.

Guanjia himself has not spoken about it all to her, except to tell her that he appreciated whatever she had done for Zhang _meiren_ , who was beside herself with grief. He himself looks as though he had aged ten years in a week- and she _is_ sorry for him. Whatever his other faults, he had always adored every single one of his children and losing them like this had taken a toll on him.

His reticence about what had happened at Xiangluan Pavilion made her wary though. Did he have any reason to suspect that _she_ was involved? She couldn’t think _why_ —unless—unless it had something to do with Pingfu.

_I will be your sword._

She wishes now that she had been firmer with him, had told him to let it go.

But he had been so angry- and she- she had been weak.

She had _wanted_ to be defended, she thought, she had _wanted_ to be cared for.

She’s weighing the pros and cons of sending word to Pingfu personally to find out the truth when Huaiji comes in.

He’s panting, as though he’d run the entire distance to Kunning Hall.

“Huaiji” she says, getting up, concerned. “What is the matter?”

He looks around, but there’s only Qiuhe with her- they’d been going through some of Fan Zhongyan’s old poems, her mind only half on the poems, the other half worrying about Pingfu.

“Speak at once” she says, sharply.

He bows deeply.

“It’s Deputy Superintendent Zhang” she says, and she feels her knees go weak. “He took poison”

Qiuhe gasps.

Danshu’s tongue has turned to iron in her mouth, unwieldy and heavy.

“Liaozi found him, by chance” Huaiji is saying, “and called the physician at once. They’ve tried- they’ve tried to get the poison out of him, but he’s still unconscious. The physician says, if he lasts the night, he’ll live.”

“Niangniang!”

It’s Qiuhe, who’s rushed to her side, and stands close, hand at her elbow, steadying.

“Huaiji” Danshu says, and she’s proud that it comes out calm and steady. “Does guanjia know?”

“Yes, niangniang” he says, “he has instructed that the physicians do their best to save Sir Zhang’s life.”

She takes a deep breath.

“Do we know why he took such an extreme step?”

Huaiji looks up at her, his face drawn and unhappy.

“I heard that Sir Zhang was investigating the death of the fourth princess. And in his investigation, he found that the fourth princess’ asthma flared up when she was hiding in Attendant Xu’s cupboard because of the pollen on the cloth there. He found that palace maid who’d run away, and she was ready to give evidence. As for Lady Jia…” he shakes his head, “I believe there was some evidence that she was involved too, that the second princess’ death was also connected, and also about her dealings in illegal trade of salt and prostitutes…”

“I see…” she says, softly.

So, he had investigated despite guanjia warning him not to.

Qiuhe had told her about how guanjia had sent a message to Pingfu through her, along with a trunk.

Qiuhe hadn’t known what was in the trunk, but only that Pingfu had remained adamant.

“Did he give Zhang meiren this information?” she asks Huaiji.

Huaiji nods. “But before anything could be done, Attendant Xu was found dead, with a confession signed in her own name. And Lady Jia— she died in Zhang meiren’s arms.”

And now, of course, Zhang meiren would want _Pingfu_ to pay, because that was how her mind worked. And it had most certainly crossed her mind that Pingfu would have acted on Danshu’s instance.

But the Emperor- he was shielding _her_ for some reason—perhaps he truly didn’t believe her capable of treason.

But would he shield Pingfu?

Unthinkable, that he would.

He had resented Pingfu’s admiration of her, had punished him for it already, once.

And this time Pingfu had defied his express command, and it would be obvious to all why he had done it.

Pingfu, she thinks, despairing, _why_ , _why, why._

But she knew why.

If she had been in his place, she might have done the same, gone to war for the one she loved.

As she would now.

“Huaiji” she says, “I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything you command, Niangniang” he says, softly.

Huaiji has always seen more than he’s revealed, she knows.

“I need you to let me know the moment Sir Zhang wakes up” she says, and she does not say _if_ he wakes up, because he _will_ , he _has_ to wake up. “Before you fetch the physician or Superintendent Ren.”

He looks at her steadily.

“Yes, niangniang”.

“Alright” she says, softly, “You can go now. Thank you.”

He bows once more, and leaves.

She turns to Qiuhe, who’s looking at her with wide, scared eyes.

“I need you to find me a eunuch’s robes and a badge. Find Liaozi and arrange it.”

She nods, bowing, and practically runs from the room.

After that, there is nothing to do but wait, first alone, and then, when she comes back, with Qiuhe.

Danshu insists that they play a game of weiqi, and then another, and then another.

“You’re getting good at this” she says, after the third.

“You’re a good teacher” Qiuhe says, “as always.”

She eats her dinner when Qiuhe brings it, and when Huirou bursts in, apparently ready to take a break from sulking about Ping’er, she plays a game of weiqi with her too, though, as usual, Huirou is distracted by a hundred other things.

She lets her cheerful chatter flow over her, laughing when required, and teasing when required.

Nobody can know how terrified she is.

After Huirou leaves, she takes out her qin- the one instrument that she’d learnt to play somewhat competently.

She loses herself in the music and is almost startled when Huaiji comes in with Qiuhe, who’d been sent to watch out for him, and let him in secretly.

“He woke up a few minutes ago” Huaiji says, and if he’s surprised to see her dressed as a eunuch, he doesn’t show it. “Liaozi is guarding so that nobody else comes in.”

He’s stretched out on the bed, his eyes closed, face pale and drawn, lips bloodless.

For a moment, she’s afraid that she’s too late, and she makes a small sound, as she sinks to the ground beside his bed.

But he twitches, and after a moment, opens his eyes, blinking rapidly.

She pulls herself to her feet and leans over him, placing a hand over one cold cheek.

“Pingfu” she whispers, “It’s me.”

Recognition flares in his eyes, and his lips part.

She nods, biting her lip.

“It’s me” she says softly, her eyes stinging. “Pingfu.”

“Danshu” he whispers, and even in this state, he says her name as though it were the most precious sound in the world. “I’m sorry.”

She wants to fling herself over him and weep.

She wants to carry him away on a horse, away, far away, to safety.

She does neither.

They don’t have much time.

“Listen to me” she says, placing two fingers on his lips, to quieten him. “Listen to me.”

He nods.

“You have to promise me something” she says. “Will you?”

He nods again.

She presses her hand against his cheek once more. 

“You have to live” she says, “For me.”

He closes his eyes, and she can see the tears gathering at the corners.

“You have to do whatever it takes” she says, firmer, “to survive.”

He swallows, she sees his throat bob, before he says, scraped, and raw, “ _Guanjia”._

“Guanjia will let you live” she says, “If you tell him you want to die. If you grovel at his feet and tell him that you have sinned against him, and do not deserve to live anymore- he will let you live. To sentence you to death- yes, that would satisfy him- but it would satisfy him _more_ to know that you _owe_ him your life. To have you under his control so completely- to-to play god- a _merciful_ god-because he will never admit to being anything less than _virtuous-_ that is what will sway him. And so you _will_ —” and here her voice breaks, “so you _will_ let him think he’s won. _Do you understand_?”

He’s staring at her, eyes full of tears.

“Pingfu” she pleads, “He is dying. That illness of his- it will take him one day. Not today, or tomorrow, but some day. And when that day comes, we will be free. Please, I’m _begging_ you, do you understand? Just- just- stay alive until that day, until I can come to you.”

Tears are streaming down his face now, and her cheeks are wet as well.

“Please” she whispers, and she leans forward, pressing her forehead against his, cradling his face in her hands.

A hand comes up to cover one of hers, and she sobs, lifting tear-blinded eyes to his.

“I promise” he says, his voice weak and choked, “I promise.”

She presses her lips to his, cold and dry, and swallows his gasp.

They stay like that for a long minute, just breathing each other’s air.

Then she straightens up, taking a deep breath.

His fingers tangle in hers, against his cheek.

There are no words between them, but then, there had never been the need for it either.

She knows he will wait for her, wherever he is in this wide world.

And someday- someday—


End file.
